


Warmth

by syrupwit



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canadian Shack, IN SPACE!, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit
Summary: “Sorry, Pete. It looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [is_this_thing_anon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/is_this_thing_anon/gifts).

> YOUR PROMPTS WERE SO GOOD, I WISH I COULD HAVE FILLED THEM ALL.

Quill, the coward, hangs up the video conference line before Tony has finished processing his words. His mouth hangs open in the beginning of outrage, and he tries the connection again, then again. No dice. Either the signal is gone, or the Guardians are ignoring them. It’s impossible to tell. Tony grits his teeth and heads to the adjoining room.

Peter is waiting on a weirdly-shaped, gaudily decorated sofa, draped with what appears to be the hide of a space bear. He looks only slightly less wet and bedraggled than when Tony pulled him from the nearby river. Crash landing on an alien planet: There are better ways to do it. Worse, too, but that’s not a helpful theme to dwell on.

“Sorry, Pete. It looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

“I-I don’t mind.” The kid’s teeth are chattering. “This place isn’t so bad. At least we’ve got a roof over our heads, right? And, I mean, it seems pretty fancy...”

“That’s one word for it.” There is a certain crumbling grandeur to the facilities, sort of like a retrofuturist murder mystery setting but with more neon. The shelter they discovered belongs to what was once an alien ski resort, abandoned centuries ago due to an economic recession. Quill’s scans indicated that the utilities, power, atmospheric controls, etc. are still in good working order. (Quill also said it was haunted.) There should be food they can eat, too. Unfortunately, there’s nothing they can use to fix their shuttle or suits—at least, that they’ve found yet. Tony has faith.

Peter’s health takes precedence at the moment. Tony doesn’t like the way he’s shaking. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up. I saw something that looked like towels in the hallway.”

Tony finds the towels. He finds an apparatus that looks like a faucet but actually emits hot air. Not bad. Warm space towels, applied to Peter’s core, should help elevate his body temperature safely.

“Hey kid,” he calls, “do me a favor and take your clothes off.”

“What?”

Predictably, Peter is embarrassed, but he’s also practical enough that it overrides the embarrassment. He strips out of his remaining damp clothing while Tony warms the towels with the heat-faucet.

Tony is careful to keep his manner clinical, joking about everything except what they’re doing and minimizing skin-to-skin contact. Peter wraps the bearskin around himself afterwards, curling up again on the funky sofa, and Tony is pleased to see some color returned to his cheeks.

He dries off Peter’s hair with an excess towel and pretends he doesn’t notice the way he squirms against the sensation. He doesn’t linger either, but. Well, he doesn’t _ try _ to linger. Not appropriate. At least Peter's reaction might indicate his healing factor has started working.

“Hang tight, and I’ll see if I can get you something warm to drink.”

There is a small but hardy kitchen, equipped with a water pump, a vast selection of dehydrated comestibles, and a stove that burns tiny, opaque black crystals reeking of cinnamon. Tony heats up a pan of water and rifles through the cabinets for something drinklike. Cocoa would be nice, but beggars can’t be choosers. He finds a packet of neon pink powder in a high cabinet that turns out to make a sweet, bland beverage with a layer of thick white foam on top, and prepares two tankards’ worth.

Peter is half asleep when he gets back. He blinks awake and smiles at Tony with heavy-lidded eyes. It would be cute if it weren’t worrisome.

“You gotta stay up,” Tony tells him, handing him a space tankard of space cocoa. Peter sits up to receive his beverage, takes a sip. Tony sits in a chair by him and drinks too. On second and third taste, the drink isn’t so bland. There’s a trace of something tangy and rich in it, maybe herbal, maybe fermented. The warm liquid slides pleasantly down his throat, pooling in his stomach.

They sit, drinking and thinking. Outside, a light snow begins to fall. Peter is almost looking human again. He always looks good, but he looks especially good when he’s human. It takes a while for Tony to become aware that he’s staring.

He’s staring at Peter, and he feels like something is… different. Something in his brain isn’t the same. He feels nice, and warm, and floaty, and a lot less inhibited…

“Oh, shit,” he realizes. “This stuff is drugs."

“So that’s why I feel stoned,” says Peter, and yawns, stretching like a cat. The bearskin shifts.

“This is bad,” says Tony, ignoring the obvious questions: _Who smoked you up? When? Why?_ “We have to, uh. I’m supposed to take care of you. Keep you warm. You were really cold, and it freaked me the fuck out. Never do that again. I'm serious, I can't handle it. What are you doing?”

Peter freezes like a deer in headlights, halfway out of his bearskin. “I was going to. Come over there? So that you could keep me warm?”

“Well, you sit right back down.” Tony stands. “We can’t both fit in this chair.”

He knows on some level that this is wrong, but also he doesn't care. He shrugs off his outer jacket, which still has some patches of damp clinging to it, and joins Peter on the sofa. The kid—okay, the young man—stiffens, then sighs and relaxes against him. Their bodies fit together in a way they absolutely shouldn't. Tony finds and grabs Peter's hands, which are still cold. It satisfies something deep and primal in his brain when Peter intertwines their fingers.

"This is really nice, Mr. Stark," says Peter. His eyes droop, his body going limp with bliss.

"Don't you dare fall asleep on me," says Tony, and bites his ear. He muffles Peter's subsequent exclamation with his lips, and then his tongue.

Yep. He's chewing Quill out for at least an hour the next time he sees him. But, honestly, it could be worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand fade to black for the stoned but loving handjobs, about five minutes after the story ends.
> 
> (Please note that the Guardians are actually doing something pretty important right now, but the antagonism between Peter Q. and Tony is such that they are acting like this. In this story. Anyway.)


End file.
